


hear you say

by liquidsky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Birthday Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Stupidity, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: "Like, I'm aware," Bucky muttered, pressing the heel of his hand purposefully over Sam's dick; Sam couldfeelhimself chubbing up against Bucky's hand, the familiar heat tugging on his lower stomach, and it was just—"Our plan was to do this on a bed and everything, I was gonna have you fuck me and watch me suck Steve off."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 97





	hear you say

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally the most randomly-timed fic in the universe, i _know_ , but i have reasons: 
> 
> 1) i was listening to _say aah_ by trey songz and, like, thinking about birthday treats  
> 2) it's summer where i am, and summer just makes me think of pool parties which then makes me think of frats which then makes me think of ill advised threesomes (because, like... hollywood, am i right?)  
> 3) i have no idea when sam wilson's birthday is, so, like. why the fuck not. just imagine this takes place whenever that is, and boom, you're set. 
> 
> also... i _know_ it's christmas' eve today, and my original plan was to write christmas fic, but it's just not the vibe, folks. it just isn't.

Sam would've fucking loved to state that his birthday had come and gone without much fanfare, except that wasn't a thing anyone could have said without sounding like a filthy fucking liar. 

– 

The abridged version was that Sam's 22nd birthday celebration had ended with Steve falling off a balcony and breaking his leg, the sprawling mass of drunk barbarians they often called teammates clustering around him on the grass, some amused, only a few genuinely concerned. Sam and Bucky had dragged Steve to the hospital, Bucky driving because he'd somehow managed to stay sober throughout the night, despite Sam's near constant attempts at feeding him jelly shots. Steve had cried in the backseat, drunk off his ass, flushed from his chest all the way up to his hairline; by the time they had arrived at the hospital the collar of Steve's light blue muscle tee had been pretty fucking soaked, so Sam had sneaked a look at Bucky, whose lips had been drawn in a thin line, then back at Steve for only as long as it had taken a stern-looking nurse to grab Steve by the arm and disappear down a corridor.

– 

Now, three and a half hours later, way into the fucking morning with the sun threatening to rise out in the horizon, Sam tipped his head back to rest against the wall, and Bucky shifted around on his seat to shoot him a look, that Sam answered with a mumbled, "What?" 

"Happy birthday," Bucky told him, grinning, an artificial purple tint to his lips and his tongue that Sam wanted to roll his eyes at. _Happy fucking birthday alright_ , he thought, but he didn't say it, mostly because it wasn't worth the hassle. Bucky frowned at him, then, eyebrows creasing softly. Sam squinted at the wet plaster of Bucky's hair to his forehead, spiky in places that didn't make any fucking sense, wondering how _that_ had come about. He didn't remember Bucky going into the pool, and Bucky wasn't the type to _go_ into the pool unless he was drunk, which he wasn't, but his deeply investigative thought process was cut short by Bucky's warm palm slapping down his thigh, "I had something I wanted to give you."

Sam blinked at him, "You bought me a gift?" 

"Not exactly," Bucky hummed, his palm trailing upwards; Sam jerked up, eyes going wide before he slapped Bucky's hand away with an scandalized look, and said, "You're not _jerking me off in a hospital_ , what is _wrong_ with you?" 

Bucky huffed a breath, and Sam had the desperate thought of _he isn't even drunk_ for half a second before Bucky set his hand back down on Sam's thigh and rubbed a wide circle that had Sam shutting his eyes, "Steve and I were supposed to do this back the house," 

"Steve and–" Sam's eyes shot open, "Steve's in on this?" 

His hand palmed up Sam's thigh to rest _way_ too fucking close to his dick, making Sam glance around furiously, "Steve's in on everything," Bucky told him, "Also, would you fucking stop looking? I wouldn't have my hand on your dick if there were people here."

"I don't _know_ that," is what Sam answered him with, elbowing Bucky on the side despite the fact that he ended up sprawling down on the chair and spreading his legs wider anyway. "This is so fucking stupid."

"Like, I'm aware," Bucky muttered, pressing the heel of his hand purposefully over Sam's dick; Sam could _feel_ himself chubbing up against Bucky's hand, the familiar heat tugging on his lower stomach, and it was just—"Our plan was to do this on a bed and everything, I was gonna have you fuck me and watch me suck Steve off."

Sam's hips grinded up almost on impulse, choking on shuddering breath of "Oh my _god_ ," that Bucky grinned at because he was a calculating dipshit, and Sam really hadn't stood a chance. "You're the worst fucking person I know." 

"Come on," Bucky said, and he'd taken to cupping Sam through his jeans in a way that was just frankly inappropriate for the context. Not that anything before that _hadn't_ been, just that maybe it was more; Sam felt nerve-wrackingly exposed with the outline of his hard-on visible and his huffing breaths sounding grossly fucking _loud_ in the hallway. Bucky looked only semi-good under the cold light of the hospital, with his hair still looking crazy, and the manic grin he sported a little scary, but it was doing it for Sam. Everything about Bucky did it for Sam, which was just _so_ undignified – he'd gotten good at pretending otherwise, except Steve, who was a fucking _demon_ on a good day, had seen right through him, and now he was about to be rubbed off in the hallway of a shitty hospital, and Bucky would brag about his birthday present or whatever for the next century or so, and yet not even that was enough to get Sam to slap Bucky's hand away. It just–it was unfairly good, the pressure on his dick, Bucky shuffling to lean sideways so his warm breath hit the side of Sam's face. It smelled faintly of artificial grape flavor, which explained the purple on his lips, and Sam wanted to kiss him so badly his mouth went slack. He moved into him, turned his head just enough that Bucky's breath fanned his lips, his "You're so fucking hot, Sam," that Sam almost flinched at, bucking up into Bucky's touch recklessly. 

Bucky's fingers moved to the button of Sam's jeans, curling around them carefully, "We shouldn't—" Sam started, though he knew he wasn't doing more to stop him if Bucky decided to really go for it, dignity be damned, and Bucky moved forward to lick Sam's upper lip, and forward still until he could catch Sam's mouth with his, finally undoing the button and trying to shove his hand into Sam's pants. 

He did try, really, but it barely lasted a second until the sound of footsteps reverberated across the hallway and Bucky sprang away from him, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving Sam to gape awkwardly at the nurse, who flicked her eyes down to the outline of his dick then back up to his face with an admonishing glower that he tried to dodge by running a hand over his head. 

"Uh," he started, and she moved forward, shoving toward them a high-looking Steve, hunched on a wheelchair, all mussed and heavy-lidded, "Save it," she told Sam, then, "He's all good. You boys take care now." 

"Alright," Bucky told her, standing up – Sam hadn't noticed _his_ dick before, but there it was - and moving to pause behind Steve's wheelchair and push him forward. "Thanks, ma'am." 

Steve seemed pretty out of it, so much so that he giggled when Bucky clapped a hand down his shoulder, leaning down to ask, "You okay?"

"Great," Steve said, "They gave me the good stuff," and giggled again, looking up at Sam, flushed and pretty. Sam blinked at him, thinking back to Bucky's words. Steve was too out of it to be as much of a douchebag as he usually was, but not enough that he didn't catch on to Sam's weird peering, "Wait, did Bucky give _you_ the good stuff, too?" 

Sam didn't bother answering him, because _seriously_ , and as he turned around and walked away from the scene he heard Steve whining, "I can't believe you didn't wait for me, you're such an asshole." 

"Well," Bucky said, "You're the one who had to _fall off a balcony,_ dipshit," and honestly, that Sam didn't think twice about their bickering was proof enough that they spent too much time together. And apparently the time they _didn't_ was spent planning to double-team him, which, like, okay. He glanced back at them, watched Steve bitch at Bucky and Bucky roll his eyes, and decided, more clear minded than he'd been with Bucky's hand on his dick, that he was alright with it. 

Together, he and Bucky helped Steve into the backseat again, eyeing up the long sprawl of his body as he sat with his back propped up on the door and his legs stretched out across the seat. Sam glanced at Bucky, and Bucky smirked at him, "You're so transparent." 

"Whatever," Sam said, shrugging and moving to the passenger side; he rested his head on the window, eyes closing until Bucky ran a finger up his thigh, "Buck-"

Bucky glanced back at Steve, who'd fallen asleep and was currently drooling on the the side of the headrest, "Yeah, yeah. Alright."

Helping Steve up out of the car and up the stairs was maybe more than a two-man job, if only because Steve was sort of humongous, and a little bit of a dead weight, "You're so _nice_ ," Steve muttered into the skin of Sam's neck, making Sam's arm hair stand on end. "I wish I was awake enough to suck your dick."

"Jesus Christ," Bucky laughed, slightly out of breath, pushing Steve forward so he face-planted on the bed with a loud huff. Steve turned his head, saying, "Sorry about your birthday, Wilson," and Sam patted the side of his face, smiling. "I'm saving your gift for tomorrow." 

Sam laughed a little, elbowing Bucky when he snickered, too, "I'm sure you are," he assured him, before glancing at Bucky, "You staying with him?" 

Bucky did–Sam padded across the hall to his own room, then, eyeing the empty bed left behind by Clint, and ultimately making up his mind that he wasn't quite that above rubbing one off about Bucky's attempted handjob. He'd had worse birthdays, was the point, though saying that when he still had over 14 hours left felt a little like asking for trouble. 

– 

It wasn't the most satisfying orgasm of his life, or anything, not even close–he was too sweaty, and kind of felt like he needed a shower, but it got the job done. 

– 

The world post-shower really was a thing of wonders, _or whatever,_ Sam thought, strutting into his bedroom with the superior air of someone who had just scrubbed about a lifetime-worth of _grime_ off his person. His bed was made, he found, except it hadn't been when he left for his shower; the two ginormous idiots sprawled across the mattress hadn't been there when he'd left, either. 

"Morning," Steve said, smiling, a sharpie in hand as he paused; there was a tiny falcon drawn onto his cast, artfully shaded, very _Steve_ , the overachiever. "So, about that gift."

"What about it," Sam asked, yet he was already moving forward so he could lean into Bucky's frame as he knelt up on the mattress and made grabby hands in Sam's general direction, "Is that what this is?"

Bucky snorted, pulling Sam in by the waist, saying, "Obviously," before shoving his tongue in Sam's mouth. He sighed, hands curling around Bucky's biceps—getting hard already, with Bucky's lips leaving his to trail a slick path down his jaw, over his shoulder. Sam grunted a little, pushing his hips forward so his dick could rub against Bucky's stomach, groaning louder when it did and Bucky's hands went on to grope Sam's ass and pull him more heavily into him. Sam had thought about this before, because of course he had - he didn't think anyone who'd ever met either Steve or Bucky hadn't, if he was being honest - but reality, despite the stale hangover air that lingered in the room and the light headache pulsing in his temples, was simply _better_. Behind them, Steve made an inquiring noise that had Bucky pulling away from Sam to go sit between the spread of Steve's legs; Steve had propped his broken leg up on a pillow, and Sam smiled at how carefully Bucky positioned himself, a little tender, a lot overwhelming. He followed, leaning in past Bucky so he could kiss Steve instead, the taste of him minty, fresh and surprising. He tasted kind of like Bucky, too, a realization that Sam pushed into, when Bucky's hands came to rest on his ass again, pulling his hips forward so Sam could grind his dick against Bucky's.

They looked–well, good wasn't quite enough of a word, but Sam's mind was fully devoid of other, better concepts. They looked good, but somehow sounded even better, felt even more devastating when Steve's arms pulled Sam closer to Bucky still, impossibly so, sweat beginning to bead between them, making the slide of their bodies together slicker, easier. Sam realized too late that he was gasping, loudly, too loud; Bucky seemed just as entranced by it as Steve did, though, both of them flushed, equally heavy-lidded, their hands everywhere at once. For one short, breathless second, Sam couldn't quite make out whose voice he heard curl around the, "I want you to fuck me," that rested on the air between them, except he looked at Steve, who added, "That's so fucking hot, fuck–" and Sam understood it'd been Bucky, just like he'd promised last night, everything according to their plan. _Happy birthday to him indeed_ , actually, stepping away to allow Bucky to shuffle onto his stomach with his head pillowed on Steve's thigh. 

Sam fumbled around his side table for lube and condoms, getting distracted by Steve's hands running through Bucky's hair in the process; that's how he'd known, then, because he did it too. Sam's breath fluttered weirdly in his chest, all warmth, and he slicked his fingers enough that the press of his digits along the soft skin of Bucky's taint felt like almost nothing at all. To him, anyway—Bucky gasped, wet into Steve's thigh, and Steve's other hand rubbed his back, comforting and soft. Sam, because he wasn't all that nice, really, went for two at a time, shoving his fingers into Bucky almost carelessly, not quite opposite to the soft touch of Steve's hands on Bucky's back, but–just a little contrary that Bucky groaned, _really_ loudly, said, " _Fuck,_ Sam," in a wrecked timbre that Sam saw made Steve smile.

"Good?" Sam asked, just for the thrill of it, his fingers twisting inside the overwhelming tightness of Bucky's muscles. Steve's smile had edged into a smirk by the time Sam peered up at him, not looking for his blessing, exactly, just wondering if he'd done this before. Steve nodded at him, his eyes full of _something,_ answered for him, "He likes it like this, you can give him another." 

Bucky made a noise high in his throat, more like a whine, except he'd probably shove a sock down Sam's throat if he ever called it that, grunted, "Steve–" and Sam didn't wait to hear what he'd say next, pulled his fingers out only to dive back in with three, marveling at how Bucky's body tensed, tight; almost unyielding, really, though not for long. He pushed back into Sam's touch eventually, still painfully tight, his voice very much a wreck, breaking slightly every time he tried to ask for something. Steve took to steering the ship, then, quite the captain, saying, "Fuck him harder," first, followed by, "He likes it when you spread your fingers," and smiling when Bucky gasped. Unwavering, in how he pressed his hand down between Bucky's shoulder blades, raked his nails down his back, "He's good now, you can–"

"Sure?" Sam asked Steve, grinning when Bucky huffed out an offended little breath. He pulled his fingers out with a loud pop, leaning back to press a kiss to Bucky's lower back before he slid the condom on and sprawled along the length of Bucky's body like a human blanket, "Alright, Buck?" he asked, kissing the side of his neck, too, grinding his dick against the crease of Bucky's ass, the slide wet and _easy_ , even easier when Bucky pushed up against him, saying, "Yeah, good, fuck me." 

So Sam did, pushing into him in one long stroke, feeling the tightness of him all over, almost unbearably hot, a feverish kind of spark sizzling down his chest, he pushed in and in until he was fully sheathed, gasping a choked noise when Steve groaned and Sam looked up to find him staring at both of them with a gaze so heated it might as well be burning. Sam splayed a hand on Bucky's back, balanced himself so he could gain some leverage and fuck in and out of him in hard, near painful slides, every nerve in his body frayed by the balmy clutch of Bucky's ass around him; Bucky's noises were too much, too, a whole 'nother beast altogether, getting progressively higher and louder until Steve apparently decided he'd had enough of it and pulled Bucky's face up to slide his dick into his mouth. Sam had to close his eyes, in the end, which he deeply regretted, if only because he missed the sight of Steve's large hands cradling Bucky's face, thumbing his cheek to feel the shape of his own dick as Bucky nearly choked on it. Sam kept his eyes shut tight, focusing on nothing but the constant pressure around his dick and the loud, pornographic slurping noises of Bucky's mouth on Steve. Sam had thought about it, too many fucking times, yet clearly his imagination wasn't a match for the reality of them – it felt good enough to hurt, somehow, and eventually Steve said his name in a weird, choked voice, all caught on air, "Aren't you, _fuck_ ," then, "Aren't you gonna come?"

Sam's eyes fell open, and Steve sure did have a point; Sam watched him and Bucky, Bucky's face so red it looked sunburnt, Steve's chest heaving, pink blotches on his skin, sweat sliding down his pecs. He stared back at Sam with a bewildered sort of look, mouth going slack when he finally, _finally_ came, and Sam was caught between wanting to watch Steve's face and needing to watch as Bucky swallowed around a mouthful of come, his lashes sticking to one another from where he'd choked a little and teared up; Sam didn't have _words_ for the way Bucky looked then, suckling on the tip Steve's dick until he had to let it go, resting his face on Steve's navel and moaning loud enough that he might have woken the dead, and only then did Sam realize that he'd sped up, fucking relentlessly into the molten heat of Bucky's ass until he was shaking, a dark, heady current of sheer electricity building up from his spine and melting away until he came, twitching inside Bucky, or feeling Bucky twitch around him, slowing down to move in long, deep thrusts; he pulled out, after a while, disposing of the condom and flipping Bucky onto his back to take a look at him. 

A sight, really–maybe the best thing Sam'd ever seen. Steve seemed to think so, too, threading his fingers through Bucky's hair again, away from his sweaty forehead. He looked a little wild around the eyes, a lot flushed, and his dick stood so hard against his belly that for a second Sam felt apprehensive to even touch him. It didn't last, though, Sam saying, "Best birthday ever," into Bucky's chest, tasting salt when he licked his way down Bucky's stomach, even more when he curled his tongue around the head of Bucky's dick. He felt good, heavy and warm against his lips, and Sam palmed his thighs, too, rubbed a knuckle under his balls, looked up to check before shoving three of his fingers back into him, twisting them up, just right, if Bucky's grunting was to be believed. He gazed up, again, this time to watch Steve watch them, a knowingly look in his eyes, starting to go smug. Sam didn't mind, not really, not when he could hear the loud squelching sounds of his fingers in and out of Bucky, taste the wetness of him on his tongue, feel the echo of his choked breaths against him. 

It took Bucky no time at all to come, spurting hot and bitter onto Sam's tongue, his thighs shaking, stomach clenching. Sam pulled away from him, lifted himself up to lick into Steve's waiting mouth, sharing the Bucky's load between them easily, smiling slick against each other's lips when Bucky groaned from under them. 

It was easy, then, to flop down on the mattress next to Bucky, both of them breathing hard. The new bedding was pretty much unsalvageable, soaked in sweat, and probably lube, but Sam didn't mind sticking to the wet spot for a while; it wasn't as though he'd fall asleep.

– 

Except, of course, that he _did_ fall asleep. 

– 

He woke up to a foul fucking smell, and half-stuck to the bedding, dried come flaking on his pubes, face itchy, mouth tasting like he'd eaten a corpse. He didn't bother showering, brushing his teeth – the house smelled _burning_ , he realized, and stepped into underwear he was pretty sure wasn't even his. 

Bucky was sprawled on the couch when Sam climbed down the stairs, crying-laughing, flushed and freshly showered, pointing at Steve, who was braced on the door, all weird, his cast looking greyish. Sam looked past Steve and into the kitchen, frowning at the smoke wafting off from the oven, then back, first at Steve, then at Bucky.

 _Happy fucking birthday,_ or something.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, special thanks to my irl friend duda (ao3 user doodsxd) for her wise advice earlier this year, that would more or less vaguely translate to "whatever, write your explicit sex scenes and live your truth, we don't _care_ " because i was worried that having irl friends read my fic was making me shy. not shying away now - new house rules for 2020. 
> 
> also, it's _someone's_ birthday today, right, isn't that what christmas is? so... maybe not that random! maybe sam wilson's our lord and savior after all. who knows. merry christmas, folks!


End file.
